


Sugar, We're Goin' Down

by DashFlintceschi



Series: Prompt Table [7]
Category: You Me At Six
Genre: Diabetes, Gen, somewhat technical descriptions of medical type stuff I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 21:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7986649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DashFlintceschi/pseuds/DashFlintceschi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The band learn to trust Dan and let him take care of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar, We're Goin' Down

**Author's Note:**

> Number 11-Medical. Because I haven't written enough of those. 
> 
> I don't have diabetes, and while I've known a few diabetics over the years, I've never known anyone who uses an insulin pump, so most of this is from research and little bits of knowledge I've picked up over time. If anyone notices anything wrong, feel free to drop me a line and correct me.

They’re in the middle of an interview when Dan stands up suddenly, surprising his band mates and the interviewer.

“Is something wrong?” She asks worriedly, but Dan shakes his head with a reassuring smile.

“No, I just have to get something to eat, I’ll be back in a minute,” he tells her, not noticing his band mates frowning to each other behind him.

“Can’t it wait?” Josh asks, and Dan hesitates for a second, thinking about it, then decides he can wait a few more minutes, nods, and sits back down.

“Yeah, you’re right, sorry. Where were we?” He smiles, pretending to listen to Max’s answer to the interviewer’s question as he recalculates in his head.

Dan’s panicking slightly as they rush out of their label’s offices and pile into the minivan. The interview ran later than they’d expected, they’re due on stage in forty-five minutes, and he still hasn’t eaten. As they pull out into traffic, an idea comes to him. He’s not fond of the idea, but he’s desperate as he leans forward in his seat.

“Hey, can we swing through the McDonald’s drive-through on the way there? I still haven’t eaten, and I’m fucking starving,” he asks, doing his best to sound casual, and the others nod in agreement.

“Yeah, I haven’t eaten since lunchtime yesterday,” Matt complains, and Chris snorts.

“What do you call the three bags of Doritos you shoved down your throat when we were playing Fifa last night?” He laughs, making Matt scoff.

“You actually consider those food?” Is all he says, making them laugh as they pull round into the drive-through.

Dan realises the flaw in his plan as Max leans over the back of his seat and dumps the paper bag with Dan’s food into his lap. He can’t check his blood sugar or set a bolus. It wouldn’t be a problem if he were alone in the back seat, but Josh is sitting right next to him, there’s no way he can do it without Josh noticing. He notices Josh eyeing him worriedly, and realises he’s been sitting staring at the bag for at least two minutes. He decides to risk it and opens the bag, pulling his burger out and biting into it. He can check his blood sugar and adjust the basal rate to fix any damage once they get to the venue.

As soon as they walk into the venue, their techs crowd around them, rattling off information, helping them put their in-ears on, and ushering them towards the stage. They’re almost at the side of the stage before Dan manages to get away from them, insisting he’ll piss himself if he doesn’t go to the bathroom before he goes onstage. He bolts into a stall, locks it, and checks his blood sugar as quickly as possible. As soon as it gives him the numbers, he starts calculating the basal in his head. He’s just about worked it out when someone hammers on the stall door.

“Shake it and zip, Flint, we’re late!” Josh calls through, and Dan curses silently. He’s completely lost track of his calculations. He just about remembers, finishes the calculation and types it into his pump quickly, needlessly flushing the toilet as he slides his pump back into his pocket, makes sure his t-shirt is hiding the tubing, and leaves the stall, jokingly smacking Josh’s head as he follows him out of the bathroom and to the stage.

Halfway through their set, Dan realises he fucked up. He’s sweating way more than he should be; he fucks up twice during Loverboy because his hands are shaking so badly; he feels like he’s going to be sick; his heart is racing painfully, skipping a beat every now and again; and his head is aching, the pain pounding in time with his drumming. None of the others are aware that anything’s wrong, until midway through Fresh Start Fever, when the drumming stops suddenly, and when they turn to look, Dan’s staring down at his drumkit with a confused look. The four of them rush over to him, and Josh reaches out, gently touching Dan’s arm.

“You alright, Danny?” He means for it to come out gently, but that’s kind of difficult when he has to shout to be heard over the crowd. Dan looks up and stares at him blankly with glassy eyes for an uncomfortably long time, before blinking slowly and nodding.

“Yeah, yeah, just… Forgot what I was doing for a minute, is all,” he attempts to reassure them, but he’s slurring so badly they can barely understand him, and it makes them worry more. Max turns and mouths ‘is he drunk?’ to Chris, who looks just as confused and worried as he is.

After a quick discussion between the four of them, they decide they need to get Dan offstage and to a first-aider quickly. Josh and Matt move around the drums to stand beside Dan, each taking an arm and helping him to his feet. They manage to get back to their dressing room before Dan’s brain catches up with what’s happening. He shakes them both off, losing his balance in the process and falling back onto the couch behind him.

“Wha-Why- What’re you doing? I’m fine,” he slurs out, frowning as the four of them stand over him, frowning disbelievingly. “No, really, I just… Just need some… Lucozade or Red Bull or something,” he stumbles out, and they give him confused looks, but Max goes and gets a can of Red Bull from the fridge and hands it to him anyway.

As Dan gulps it down, Chris’ brain is adding things up.

“Daniel, did you somehow neglect to tell us that you’re diabetic?” He asks finally, voice low and slightly angry. Dan finishes drinking, then sits in a dazed stupor for a few minutes, until the glucose works its way into his bloodstream, and the fog shrouding his mind clears. When he can finally think straight again, Chris’ words sink in, and he sighs deeply.

“I’m sorry,” is all he says, and the four of them gape at him.

“How could you keep something so important from us for nine years?” Max demands, and Dan rubs his face.

“Look, just… Give me a couple of minutes to sort myself out, then we can talk about this, yeah?” He asks, and they nod, sitting down around him, watching and waiting patiently as he pulls his meter, lancet, and a test strip from his back pocket, and quickly tests his blood sugar. He slumps slightly when he sees how low it still is, and slides his pump out of his front pocket.

“Wait, wait, you use an insulin pump? How the hell did you hide that? You never wear a t-shirt,” Matt wonders, and Dan ignores him for a minute as he works out a new basal rate and types it into the pump. 

Once he’s done, he answers Matt’s question by standing up, pulling his t-shirt up with one hand as the other pulls the waistband of his jeans down just far enough for them to see the small dressing just above his hip, and they immediately understand his silent explanation. He always chooses an infusion site under his jeans, so that no-one will see it, even when he’s shirtless. As he sits back down, Josh turns to him with betrayed eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” He asks softly, and Dan sighs.

“I was diagnosed when I was thirteen months old. My whole life has been about diabetes. I just… Liked being normal for once. I always meant to tell you guys, it just… Never felt like the right time, and then it got to the point where it had been too long, and I just… I’m sorry,” he explains, ending in a guilty mumble, and the four of them nod.

“Alright, I guess we can understand that. Just. No more secrets, from any of us, yeah?” Max proposes, and they all nod.

“Well, I’m not hiding anything else, promise,” Dan swears, and they all nod, making similar sentiments of their own.

“So, what happened onstage, was that my fault? For interrupting you in the bathroom?” Josh asks, voice small and guilty, and Dan smiles reassuringly.

“Nah, it was mostly my own fault, mixed in with a bit of bad luck,” he corrects him, then explains the series of events that brought them here, which does make Josh feel a lot better about the whole thing.

They’d only had five songs left of their set when Dan had his dizzy spell, so rather than go back out and finish, they post a tweet, apologising for finishing early, explaining that Dan had gotten sick, and promising to make it up to the fans. Aware that Dan doesn’t want everything to be about his illness, they avoid mentioning it as much as possible, but that doesn’t mean they forget about it. They quietly read up on diabetes, and how to manage it, and start making small alterations to their routines to help him, without being obvious about it.

After some casual questions from Josh, they know which brands and flavours of glucose tablets Dan prefers, and all four of them start carrying packets of them with them at all times. They all work together to keep an eye on when Dan eats and checks his blood sugar, quickly getting the hang of his routine and making seemingly casual comments every now and again to make sure he sticks to it. They memorise the symptoms of both hypoglycemia and hyperglycemia; even though Dan mentions that he rarely suffers from either; and constantly keep an eye on Dan to make sure he isn’t showing signs of any symptoms.

Dan noticed all they’re doing almost immediately, and though he appreciates the sentiment at first, it starts to wear him down after a while, until finally, he can’t take it any more, and he sits the four of them down.

“Look, guys, I know you’re just trying to help, but… When I said I didn’t want my whole life to be about diabetes, this is exactly what I meant. It’s bad enough that my life is ruled by it, but now it’s ruling yours, too. So just… Stop. Stop worrying, stop keeping an eye on me, just forget about it altogether. I’ve lived with it for twenty-six years. I’ve been managing it on my own for eleven of those. What happened the other night was a fluke, something that only happens to me once, maybe twice a year. I have it under control, I swear, so just… Stop,” he tells them, having to talk faster and louder a few times to stop them interrupting him with their protests.

“We just want to help,” Matt argues softly, and Dan sighs and nods.

“I know, and I appreciate that. But the fact that it’s on all of your minds constantly is stressing me out, and stress makes my blood sugar more likely to go haywire, so please, just… Let me be normal again?” His voice is soft and pleading, and their hearts break for him a little. They all nod, there’s no way any of them can deny him this. They do as he asks, forcing the subject from their minds any time it pops up. They all still carry glucose tablets with them, but it’s more of a habit than a conscious decision now. 

Five months after they start forcing themselves not to think about it, Dan takes another funny turn during soundcheck. As soon as he stops drumming, the four of them are around him, Chris trying to press a glucose tablet into his mouth. Dan makes a small noise and turns his head away, refusing to open his mouth.

“Come on, love, it’ll help. It’s raspberry, your favourite,” he coaxes, but Dan shakes his head, squeezing his eyes closed as his vision blurs. As soon as he’s sure Chris won’t shove the tablet into his mouth as soon as he opens it, Dan turns to look at him.

“Does my breath smell fruity?” He rasps, and Chris frowns, moving a little closer and motioning for Dan to open his mouth so he can check. He does, breathing out slowly, and Chris leans back again, shaking his head.

“No, why? What does it mean if it is?” He asks worriedly, but Dan ignores him, pulling his pump out and lighting up the screen. 

He curses softly as he sees the non-delivery notification, and turns to Max.

“I left my jacket on an amp, just over there. Can-Can you get the little black case from the inside pocket, please?” He mumbles, and Max nods, rushing to do as asked. The second Max presses the case into his hand, Dan pops it open and pulls the insulin pen out. It’s primed and ready, so all he has to do is unwrap and screw in the needle, then immediately pulls his t-shirt up, grabs a handful of flesh on his side and sticks the needle into it, then presses the button on the end to inject the insulin.

Once he’s done, he leans against Chris, waiting for his head to stop swimming.

“What does it mean if your breath smells fruity?” Josh repeats Chris’ question, and Dan sighs.

“It means my blood sugar’s gone so high that I’ve developed ketoacidosis, which is where the body runs out of insulin, so it starts burning fatty acids, instead. It’s bad, potentially life threatening. I knew my blood sugar was too high, so I had to be sure,” he mumbles against Chris’ shoulder, feeling Chris tense when he realises the mistake he almost made.

“That’s why you wouldn’t take the glucose tablet.” It’s not a question, but Dan nods anyway.

“Mhm, it would have just made things worse,” he murmurs, sighing softly as his blood sugar drops and he starts to feel a little better. 

“Can we do anything?” Josh asks softly, and Dan shrugs one shoulder lazily.

“My meter’s in my back pocket, if I talk you through it, can you check my blood sugar for me?” He asks, and Josh nods, leaning around to slide the meter, lancet, and test strips out. “Ok, take the lancet and stab my finger with it. No, no, the side. Anywhere else hurts like fuck. Now take a test strip. You see the part that kind of looks like a microchip? Turn it over and smear some blood on the paper right above the microchip looking bit. Ok, now slot it into the meter, bloody side up,” he coaches, relaxing against Chris’ shoulder again once Josh has successfully completed his task.

After a minute or so, the meter chimes, and Josh checks it.

“It says 9.7 m-m-o-l slash l. I assume you know what that means?” He relays, and Dan nods.

“It means it’s still a little high, but not really anything to worry about any more. Are we done with soundcheck? I need to check why my pump stopped working, then I could really do with a nap,” he mumbles sleepily, and they nod. Chris helps him stand up, then keeps his arm around Dan’s shoulders as they walk out to the bus.

Once he’s settled at one of the tables with everything he needs spread out in front of him, Dan takes his t-shirt off and starts peeling the dressing away from his skin. He freezes when he feels eyes on him and looks up. The four of them are standing nearby, staring at him with big, curious eyes.

“You can come and watch, if you want,” he tells them, and they immediately come over to sit around him, looking down at the dressing intently. “Alright, under the dressing is the infusion site, which is where the cannula is inserted into my skin. The cannula is attached to a length of plastic tubing, which is attached to the pump at the other end. Something’s gone wrong somewhere in the process, and it’s stopping the pump from delivering insulin, which is why I went hyperglycemic and had to use a pen, instead,” he rattles off, pointing to each component as he names it and describes its function. “Some people get squeamish when they see the infusion site, so if you think you might, look away now,” he warns, peeling the dressing off once he’s sure they’re ready.

Once the dressing is out of the way, he slowly, carefully slides the cannula out. He lifts it in front of his face to inspect it, and immediately sees the problem. A blood clot has managed to work its way between the tubing and the cannula, completely blocking it. Max makes a small noise of disgust when he sees it, but doesn’t look away or get up and leave. Dan taps at his pump, setting it to drain the insulin from the tubing. As soon as it’s empty, he disconnects the tubing from the pump, putting both the tubing and the used cannula into a small medical waste bag he had ready.

“How come you’re getting rid of the cannula, too?” Matt asks quietly, not wanting to distract Dan, who smiles softly.

“It’s not sterile anymore, any number of horrible things could happen if I put it back in,” he explains easily as he unwraps fresh, sterile tubing and cannula, connects them to each other, and the tubing to the pump, finds a fresh patch of skin to use as an infusion sight, wipes it off with an antibacterial wipe, and inserts the cannula, huffing a laugh at the small hissing noises that come from all around him.

“How can you just…?” Max trails off, face scrunched up in squeamish discomfort.

“I’ve been doing it most of my life, I barely even feel it, now,” he tells him, but Max looks like he doesn’t really believe him.

Now that they’ve seen first hand just how well Dan can take care of his diabetes, it becomes a lot easier to forget about it and let him handle it. It becomes part of everyday life for them, and Dan gets to be normal again. They still help when he needs it, taking care of him and fussing over him on those once or twice a year occasions when his blood sugar goes haywire, but Dan can live with that.


End file.
